


Summer Loving

by peaceloveandjocularity, stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26122876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: With a little help from Honoria, Klinger goes to Boston to try to catch Winchester's eye.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Summer Loving

He felt nervous making the call, but he’d known, now, for a month, that what he’d thought was just infatuation, the product of proximity, was something more - and worse. 

Happily, the sister of the man who’d unknowingly won his heart was happy to speak to him - her voice musical despite the stutter - and she was happy to help him form a plan. Two nights later, Maxwell Klinger was bound for the coast. 

***

**Seven weeks later:**

Charles Emerson Winchester III looked around the country club, savoring the cool shadows, the shine of polished mahogany, the low, refined conversation - civilization. Since returning from Korea, he no longer took it for granted. High on this feeling of enjoyment, he accepted the crystal stem of a glass from a white gloved hand, looked up to thank the server, and let the glass smash to the floor. The crystal seemed to scream as it splintered. 

The server knelt with grace on legs Charles had admired in skirts and fatigues alike. The crystal was efficiently dealt with and a new drink found its way into Charles' hand; he sensed it wasn’t the only one he’d be needing this evening. When the head waiter appeared, Charles waved him off, indicated that the incident had been his fault. 

Klinger’s eyes were smiling, but he pitched his voice low. “You should be more aware of your surroundings, Major,” he said. “I’m glad you say please and thank you, God knows you sound pretty doing it, but would it kill you to look the help in the eyes?” 

“If all the help looks like you, it might.” 

It was more than he’d hoped for. Lifting a trouser cuff, Klinger revealed patterned hose. “No one looks like me.” 

Charles flushed. 

“Did you spend too much time in the sun, sir?” Klinger asked coyly, pretending to wipe off the table. “I have my own cot if you want to lay down.” 

It was the first time he was forced to consider that if Klinger was _working_ in Boston (and how in the hell had that happened exactly?) he must also be _staying_ in Boston. “Cot?”

“Sure. In the bunkhouse.”

“That’s appalling.” 

“Step up from a tent.”

Charles felt actual despair at the idea of Klinger in a narrow cot with its metal frame, sardine crammed in among other summer workers. “Why do you hold your value so cheap? You deserve better.” He gulped at his cognac. 

“I know. Why do you think I’m in Boston instead of Toledo?” 

“That was my next question.” 

“Toledo is my love, but you’re the love of my life.”

_ Put in your two weeks notice, darling. I’m going to need at least that long to touch you.  _

Receiving no answer to this daring instance of putting his heart out in the open, Klinger buried his pain and said, “I have to get back to work, Major.” 

Charles let him disappear down the hall. He knew every nook and cranny of the clubhouse, so he knew he could intercept the plucky creature that had just come back into his life. Taking a circuitous route, he positioned himself in an alcove, snagged a white-gloved wrist, and pulled Klinger so tight against him he may as well have been painted on. 

“I was rendered speechless a moment,” he admitted, “But I had intended to ask when you got off.” 

“Now if you want.” 

“Maxwell, it’s a cliche to bang the help!” 

Klinger made no move to introduce any space between them. “We’ve never been one of those before. Besides, you think you’d be the only one? Your high society pals like slumming. I’ve never been hit on - or pinched! - so much in my life!” 

Charles had not considered this. Klinger, here, in his uniform was like, well… oh, God, his time with Potter had affected him… it was like leaving a bowl of sugar cubes in a horse pasture. “Tell me their names,” he said, voice low and cold, “and I will ruin them.” 

Klinger enjoyed this display; he’d never had the opportunity to see Charles jealous before. “Doesn’t matter, Major. I didn’t want them.” He practically batted his lashes then to add, “I could make an exception for you, though.” 

“Could?” Charles stroked his cheek. “You didn’t come to Boston for the food.”

Klinger had lost none of his devotion to verbal sparring, none of his cheek. “Depends on your policies for fucking the help,” he said, cheeks bright with desire, eyes bright with mischief. 

Winchester’s hand moved to his waist and anchored in the fabric there. “You’re not the help the minute you become mine, darling, because I will not allow you to work.” 

Klinger made a dismissive noise at him. “I’d deserve that section 8 I never got then. What am I supposed to do if I don’t work?”

“Be cared for. I assure you that I can afford you.” 

Klinger didn’t appear overly impressed either with or by this. “Who’s going to care for me while _you’re_ at work?”

Work was the last thing Charles wanted to think about; there was only one body he wanted under his hands. “I’ll call every hour,” he promised, ridiculously, “you will scarcely know I’m gone.”

“Doesn’t seem like a very lucrative way to be head surgeon,” Klinger chided. He had no desire to be a roadblock in Charles’ so-far storied rise in his profession. 

“ _Lucrative_?”

“You heard me. I’m not stupid, Major. And I can earn my own keep, too.” 

Charles hit upon a compromise. “What about the Klinger Collection?” he offered. “You could work on that, couldn’t you?” 

Klinger leaned forward, interested. “I didn’t know you liked me in skirts.” 

“I’ve been _dreaming_ of you in skirts, Max.” 

“I can give designing a try,” he agreed. “But if I can’t make a go of it, I’m not being kept, sir. I’m not a cat.”

Charles surprised him then when he replied, “Are you quite certain, Maxwell? I’ve seen you curl up, I’m quite certain I could make you purr.” 

Klinger closed his eyes against a bolt of lust. “Where was all this in Korea?” Mentally, he added, _Purr, Major? Maybe. But I’ll bet anything I can make you **yowl**. _

“This is my homeground, dearest. My money and my station can afford me a great deal here, but I assure you that nothing could ever compare to winning you.” 

Klinger heard the emotions behind the words, the time he’d spent longing. “Winners ought to get some kind of prize, huh?” 

Charles nodded, hoped. 

“Want to see what I’ve got on under this uniform? It’s not my best stuff. I’ve been rotating things, trying to get your attention.”

“You… you didn’t just get here?” 

Klinger chuckled at him, a fond sound in the face of his utter obliviousness. “I’ve been bringing you your drinks for six weeks, Major.” 

“Good God!” He drew him in then, kissing him blindly. “Forgive me, Maxwell?” 

“You just came home from war. You’re allowed to be distracted. Think I could be the thing that distracts you from now on, though?” 

“Please.” The truth was, he had been missing Klinger with every thought and breath, but found it hard to believe that imaginings had blinded him to the real thing standing at his elbow. 

Klinger grinned. “I’ve always wanted to hear you beg for me.”

“I’m begging for your time right now.”

“Oh, you’ve got it.” He winked. “But don’t think you’re staying off your knees.” 

Charles rejoiced at the return of their sparring; _this_ felt familiar and he was excited to escalate their play. “Would you like one knee or both, darling?” 

Klinger actually _swayed_ ; Charles thought he might fall. He steadied him with a hand at his waist and another at his shoulder. “That was not an answer.”

Klinger drew him further into the alcove. “I’m getting on my knees for you first.” 

_I adore this club_ , Charles thought a little deliriously. “These are rather cramped quarters, Max.”

Klinger stroked him through his clothes. “Just means I have to get closer to you.”

“I, ah, table the objection.” He caught his breath. “Though I would rather watch you spread out for me.”

That got Klinger’s attention. “You know a better spot?”

“My house isn’t far.” _And you should already have been under my roof for weeks. In my arms. In my bed_. 

“What about my job?” he teased. 

Charles managed to sound almost exactly the way he had when he’d first arrived in Korea. “Max, my dear, you are currently carrying out the desires of one of this establishment’s premier patrons and I promise you that _I do not care_.” 

Klinger acquiesced to leaving with him (after a brief bunkhouse stop for his bags), where Charles informed him, “I can drive perfectly well with one hand, so I believe I can make this a pleasant little trip for you if you’d care to show me what you’re wearing beneath that uniform.”

“On a first date, Major?” 

“ _Before_ the first date. Honoria will have to find her own way home.”

Klinger’s smile was too knowing. “She’s the one who sent me over with that drink. I was ready to give up. My guess? She knows we’re gone.” 

“Of course she is.” He rested his head on the steering wheel a moment, embarrassed at his obliviousness. Then, he decided that it didn’t really matter how he’d gotten Klinger. He had him. He started the car. “If you care about the long term survival of those buttons, you should start working on them.” 

“I don’t.” (He wasn’t lying; buttons would turn up on the floor and between the seats for months). “It’s a horrible uniform. Ruin it.” 

“It’s you I intend to ruin, thank you very much.”

At this pronouncement, Klinger popped the buttons himself to reveal a lace corset. Charles kept a smile off of his face, but thought, _Nicely done, darling_. 

“It’s too tight of a squeeze in here to get my pants off, so you’ll have to get me home if you want to see the matching underwear.”

Charles had never driven so well - or so fast - in his life. That he did so with one hand trying to feel the underwear he couldn’t yet see was particularly impressive. Pleased, Klinger stretched over his lap, mouthing at his pants. 

Charles refused to look down and see that dark head in his lap; swooning while driving was not recommended. “I already regret leaving you, Max. You needn’t rub it in.” 

“I gotta rub something, Major.” 

Still looking straight ahead, Charles smiled. Crude humor had its charms; he’d set himself up. “Don’t be a tease _and_ a menace. I can only endure so much.”

Klinger heard this as: “I’ve reached my limits,” so he obliged by offering relief… and unbuttoning his pants. 

“I am _driving_ ,” Charles informed him.

“Sure, but think how much longer you’ll last later if you let me do this now.” 

“Keep doing that, darling, and I’ll forget my name - and it’s three generations old.”

“I’ll remind you when I scream for you, Major.”

Adding his rank to the end was a way to tease him. 

“I still outrank you, darling.” 

“Any way you could give me a direct order?” 

This was a part of their relationship that Charles hadn’t considered. “With the greatest of pleasure, Corporal.”

“I got promoted, you know.” 

“Did you now?” Turnabout being fair play, he snaked his fingers between his legs. “Seems to me you should be demoted… busted down to your knees. I have a feeling you’ll look very pretty there.” 

“Corporal will work just fine,” he said.

“Just fine?”

“Sir.”

“Not quite.” 

Klinger whined. “Major.”

“Better.” 

“Why weren’t we doing this back in Korea?” 

“I felt duty bound to uphold the wishes of my family.”

Klinger translated. “You were being an idiot?”

“I was being an idiot.”

Somehow they made it to the house and up the drive (car abandoned crookedly in what definitely wasn’t the usual spot), happily avoiding arrest for public indecency. But Charles fumbled with the keys and the gazebo was _right there_. They shared a look. 

“I owe you silk sheets,” Charles reminded his lover. 

“I’ll take my back pay in trade,” Klinger said. “You can skip the sheets.” 

It was not upper class or refined or even exactly legal in the middle of that century, but it was _good_. 

Laughing and breathless, they crashed through snowball bushes and scattered daisies, lupines, aster flowers and lilies. Milky petals were caught by the evening wind. Rich scents burst around them in a heady floral cocktail. Klinger stripped out of his shirt without any prompting and the sight of his stomach trembling under lace wrecked Charles forever. 

The wind had blown a carpet of flower petals inside to cover the wooden floor. Klinger knelt among the ruined splendor and maneuvered a bench until it made a proper windbreak. Charles felt his eyes widening. In his most secret imaginings, he’d thought of loving his friend beneath sumptuous covers. That Klinger would dare the windblown and the rustic for his touch was extremely flattering, and it made him hurry to the smaller man’s side.

Resting on knees that would be stained purple and gold from the flowers beneath him, Klinger gave him a smile. “No rose petals, I’m afraid. But we’ve never exactly been traditional.”

Charles reached out and dragged his hand to his mouth, placed warm kisses from wrist to fingertips. “You’re sure about this?”

“About you? Always.”

He ran hungry fingers through wind-fluffed hair, wanting to bury his face in the softness. Klinger felt the Major writhing against him, his body echoing the frantic, searching motions of his tongue. It didn’t seem like Charles at all… or it seemed like the truest version of him, a version Max might never have seen if it wasn’t for his bravery and Honoria’s aid. Shaking off wonder and shock, Klinger ground himself against Charles and won a series of happy, hungry cries as that hot and searching part of himself stumbled across its truest companion.

Everything went all sugar and static for a moment and when he returned to himself, Winchester just made out the words, “You’ll have to do it.”

Kissing the mouth that had spoken, he asked for a recap of what sounded like a very urgent mission.

“Pants,” Klinger repeated. “Look at my stupid hands!”

His talented fingers were clenched among the flower bed they were crushing beneath them, struggling for purchase in the face of all that Charles was – alive and real, physical and beautiful and too tangible to bear - and all that he meant to him.

“Of course,” he heard himself reply, but it sounded like, “I’d be honored.”

He laid the Corporal down in the flowers, their scent bursting around them, their petals leaving stains - pollen gold, royal purple - on his skin. Not ordinarily given to the fanciful, Charles found himself wishing to make the man a crown of flowers. 

Opening Klinger’s pants, he nuzzled at the lace there, scattered flowers over it to make Maxwell laugh. He’d never imagined there could be space in love-making for laughter, but somehow that joyful noise fit them perfectly. “You should be painted like this,” he told the gorgeous man he’d won, “your laughing mouth, half-naked, covered in flowers.” 

“You should come down here with me, Major.” 

“I’m admiring your stitching.” His fingers danced along the waistband, making tremors go through his stomach in that way he hoped to dream about. 

“You’re wearing too many stitches,” Klinger grumbled back. 

“I’ll let you talk me out of them,” Winchester promised, “provided you can still speak.” 

Klinger didn’t have time for a rejoinder. Those hands he’d seen mend hideously broken bodies divested him of all outer coverings, and performed the delicate maneuver that allowed him to be free of the lace… but still in it. Charles knew that such garments were, for Klinger, as much totems as lingerie meant to incite. 

“Major…!”

His eyes chided the Corporal. “Even here?” Then he took him in, breathing in the scent of him and the scent of the flowers together. Klinger begged prettily - but not for his own pleasure. He wanted to see more of him. To see all of him. Starting with his jacket, Charles slowly discarded expensive, tailored items, privately hoping the flowers would stain them, too - physical mementos of this first joining. When he reached his pants, Klinger somehow reversed things, vaulting into his lap and ending up laying over him, seeing to the pants himself. 

“Eager, darling?” Winchester teased, trying to find his way out from under the bench. 

“Six weeks,” Klinger shot back. “And two years overseas.” 

Overseas, he had been finding himself, but the six weeks part made him blush. “Fair. Will it appease you if I make up for them? I promise that there will never again come a time when I fail to see you.” 

“I don’t want you to make up for anything. I just want to be with you. I wish I’d known that before,” he admitted, hitching one shoulder. 

“You came, darling. That’s more than enough. You are more than I could ever deserve.” 

Time slowed down then. Evening dark had begun to slip down the shoulders of the sky like a shawl that was all softness and starshine. They rocked against each other, learning, stopping to kiss. As the end neared, Klinger grabbed for Charles’ hand to anchor him. “I have you, my love,” he said softly, and everything in Klinger answered. 

Charles pulled him down after, stroking his hair. “Shall we officially go in? I don’t believe my bed is currently sporting silk, but your beauty is sure to improve it regardless.” 

“It’s warm, Major. Let’s stay a minute.”

They did, watching the stars come out and the fireflies begin to glow. Kissing his beloved’s hair, Charles thought it was going to be a very fine summer indeed.

End! 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Annikat for giving me some "Dirty Dancing" vibes for these two! :)


End file.
